Silent Whispers
by ShiandSaisei
Summary: AU set in Victorian London. Arthur is able to communicate with the dead but is overshadowed by the fraud mediums. His life takes an interesting turn when he meets Alfred F. Jones. Rating will most probably go up in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Ok, this is my first hetalia fic so I don't know how it's going to go! As it is set in Victorian London, I have included some slang common at that time. I have included the meanings but if there is anything that confuses you, don't be afraid to ask me what the hell is going on XD**

The fog rolled in over the Thames (1) covering the dirt ridden streets of London, sending the inhabitants into a premature twilight, the darkness irregularly broken by the gentle glow emitted by the infrequent oil lamps.

The streets were far from quiet; a loud brawl could be heard occurring inside an illuminated tavern, the sound rising momentarily when the landlord opened the door to throw a particularly rowdy drunk out onto the cobbled streets. Two men looked around their surroundings shiftily before ducking into an inconspicuous looking building that nonetheless had had a notorious reputation for being a cab (2). A group of beggar children were huddled together on the street corner chaunting lay (3) before a couple of rozzers (4) sent them on their way with a clip round the ear and the lingering threat of being sent to the Lump Hotel (5).

Amidst the events occurring, a group of people made their way to a relatively small house; situated a fair distance away from the shadier areas of the street. An elderly man spearheaded the group and took charge, knocking upon the wooden front door with three sharp raps. The small group didn't have long to wait before their host opened the door and ushered them inside.

There were six of them, all sitting in a circle around an oval table that was covered by a dark green slightly moth-eaten tablecloth, a single candle standing in a tarnished silver holder situated in the centre. The soft orange glow illuminated everyone's faces. An elderly woman wearing black lace sat watching the flickering flame, a threadbare handkerchief crumpled in the palm of her right hand. She was known simply as Madam and was the owner of a rundown dollyshop (6) in Whitechapel (7). Next to her sat a younger woman, her mousy brown hair pulled back in an unflatteringly tight bun. She clasped hands with a young boy aged around seven. The woman was on the verge of destitution and through selling her few personal valuables, she met Madam. Her name was Sally Brown and the boy was her son Timothy. The older man who had taken charge earlier that evening occupied the seat on the opposite side of Madam. He had steely grey hair and the beginnings of a wispy white beard covered his relatively weak chin. Madam ignored him with clear disdain. It was a well known fact that William Carpentar was a retired jack (8) and so was disliked by those who took part in activities that were considered to be situated within the greyer area of the law.

Next to the young boy Timothy was Francis Bonnefoy. Francis was a blonde Frenchman with striking blue eyes, the hint of golden stubble gracing his chin and cheeks. Francis had only been in England for several months but was swift in gaining a reputation as a frequent romantic and was often seen entertaining one to several women around London. He was here due to a direct invitation from his host, whereas the others had arrived when hearing about the meeting through rumours and gossips. Francis relaxed in his seat and smirked over at his friend, their host, Arthur Kirkland.

Arthur was a twenty-three year old male with dirty blonde hair and glittering emerald eyes set under a pair of distinctive eyebrows. He had little family with which he had regular contact with but his father gave him an adequate annual allowance so that he would be able to survive; with which he paid the rent on the modest lodgings in which he was entertaining his guests.

Arthur was different to other men his age. He didn't seek out women to woo or court, he seldom took part in questionable activities and he only made time to attend Sunday mass once a month (9). However, the thing that set Arthur apart from most men his age was also the very reason why they had all gathered today.

Arthur Kirkland was a medium and possessed the ability to communicate with the dead. Every other Thursday, Arthur allowed a small group of people to enter his home and he would attempt to contact their deceased loved ones. Spiritualism had found immediate popularity in England when American mediums migrated once the spiritualist movement officially began in 1848 at the New York home of the Fox sisters. However, the English upper classes turned spiritualism into a social pastime. Fraudulent mediums latched onto this new hobby of the rich and set about conning their unwitting clients out of as much money as they could by creating elaborate 'hauntings'.

Arthur was not a fraud and so refused to participate in the more popular tricks of the 'trade'. This meant he was often overshadowed by the crooks and con-artists, resulting in his own séances being poorly attended.

The flame on the candle flickered violently as the clock chimed to signal it had turned 5 o'clock. Arthur steeled himself and cleared his mind of all thoughts, mentally searching for any spiritual presence.

"Arthur? Mr Kirkland?" A small waif of a girl stood next to Arthur's chair, pulling on the sleeve of his jacket. Her dark blonde hair lay in lank clumps over her shoulders, her hazel eyes locked with Arthur's green ones. "Can you tell mama and Tim that I said hello?"

"And what's your name child?" Arthur asked the girl, his guests jumping at the sound of his voice, the first part of the conversation they were privy to. Their eyes never left their host who appeared to be participating in a conversation with an empty patch of air to his right.

"Miss Brown, Timothy?" Arthur turned to Sally and her son who were on the edge of their seats in anticipation. "Lydia is here and she's saying hello and-yes? Yes, ok, I'll tell them. She says that you shouldn't worry about her, she isn't scared. Ok, I'll say it-She also wants you to look under her bed and find her teddy, Patches. She kept all the money that she earned at the textiles factory hidden within the stuffing. Lydia wants you to have it."

Sally burst out into tears with cries of "Lydia! My baby!" while her son grasped her hand tightly, shocked at both Arthur's words and his mother's reaction. "T-Thank you. Thank you so much!" Sally stammered between sobs. Arthur smiled gently at her before another spirit entered his consciousness.

"WHY IS HE HERE? Has he NOT remarried YET?" A stern looking woman stormed into the room, pointing at William Carpentar. "Tell him that he's RETIRED now! He needs to MOVE ON!"

"And you are?" Arthur questioned relatively hesitantly, slightly intimidated by the loud woman.

"Edith, Edith Carpentar. That sentimental old fool used to call me Edie though."

"Mr Carpentar" the elderly man snapped to attention at Arthur addressing him.

"Yes, Kirkland?"

"Edie is here. She's…wondering why you haven't remarried yet."

"People will start to talk, has he not thought about that?" Edith added despite William not being able to hear her.

"She's worried about gossips." Arthur conveyed Edith's message across.

"Tch, she should know nobody could replace her. Daft old bag."

"YOU SILLY FOOL!" Edith shouted, causing Arthur to wince slightly.

"She's shouting, isn't she?" William asked Arthur who nodded in reply.

"Edie, you're giving our host a headache. Just tell me the truth and say you're happy I didn't remarry."

"…Mr Kirkland, please tell that fool I'm glad he didn't remarry and for him not to die too soon. It's quite relaxing without having him retell his days as the 'great detective' every two seconds." Edith requested with a soft smile directed towards her husband. Arthur relayed the message, causing William to guffaw loudly. "Ha! Well I'm enjoying not having to hear her moaning all the time! Silly baggage!" Arthur smiled at the pair who were still able to argue despite the very obvious barrier of mortality.

The first male presence of the evening made itself known by rapping loudly on the table in front of Arthur. The noise reverberated throughout the room, heard by all inhabitants, making them jump. He was a tall man with stark raven hair. He wore a traditional frock coat and even as a spirit, held onto the aura of complete authority that he obviously had in life.

"Kirkland, is it? Good man! Now tell that woman over there that her nephew is here to talk business." He stated, pointing out Madam as his aunt. Arthur told Madam it was her nephew to which she replied, "Damian? What the hell does that blighter want?"

"Kirkland, I'll be swift so try to keep up. That ol' dollyshop of hers will end up being nothing but trouble. She'll end up wearing the broad arrow (10). Tell her to get a jerryshop (11) away from the East End, I don't want to have to see her serve a drag (12). Arthur disliked the patronising tone the spirit was using but admired the fact that he was still looking out for his aunt, even in death. Relaying the message to Madam, Arthur was shocked to see the normally stoic woman burst into tears. She was comforted by Sally seated next to her.

Arthur suddenly felt a sharp pain burst through his skull, causing him to gasp and hold his head in his shaking hands. He had kept the gate open to the spiritual world for far too long and it had started to take its toll on his body.

"Mr Kirkland, are you ok?" Madam's inquiry fell on death ears as Arthur fell forward and hit the table in a dead faint.

"Well, that went well." Francis muttered upon seeing Arthur awaken with a groan and a grimace. A grimace which worsened upon seeing the Frenchman standing in front of him.

"Urgh, why are you here you bloody French bastard?" Francis chuckled softly upon hearing the expected reply coming from the disgruntled Englishman. "Come now Arthur, is that any way to talk to someone who so graciously looked after your guests and saw them off the premises when you wouldn't?"

"Hey, it's not _wouldn't_, you dolt! I was unconscious!"

"You're welcome Arthur." Francis stated in good humour. Arthur resisted the urge to give the Frenchman a smile and instead settled for a small smirk. He went to stand up but was hit by a sudden wave of nausea and had to sit back down. Francis was suddenly at his side, "Tch, you overdid it. Again." Arthur groaned in reply.

Francis snapped to attention, "Right, I guess I'm going to have to show you how to perform a real séance! I'm holding one in my parlour room Saturday evening, come round about seven. It should be fun!"

"They're not meant to be fun. And you don't have any paranormal abilities!"

"Get with the times Arthur! People want a show with tricks; not ghosts. Not really."

"Tch, whatever."

"There's even some American journalist attending. Alfred something."

"If I agree to attend, will you leave me to get some sleep?"

"Oui, mon cher! I'll see myself out."

"Bye you French toff (13)" Arthur teased in friendly banter. Upon hearing Francis leave through the front door, Arthur steeled himself before standing and staggering across to the ornate drinks cabinet and poured himself a large measure of whiskey. Grasping the cool crystal glass in his hand, he resisted downing the amber liquid in one and instead took it with him to his bedroom.

He sat on his bed and stared at the glass in his hands. He stiffened as the sound of melodious laughter echoed throughout the house. The spectre of a small blonde haired boy skipped into his room before turning and vanishing through the opposite wall. Arthur downed the amber liquid, trying to forcefully shut his connection to the spiritual world through the inebriating effects of alcohol. Without even bothering to remove his clothes, Arthur fell back onto his firm mattress in a restless sleep.

Alfred F. Jones stepped down from the raised platform of the pony-cab and thanked the driver before unloading his luggage. Looking at his surroundings, Alfred grinned with the unconcealed joy of being in a completely new place. Picking up his satchel, Alfred headed in the direction of a recommended hotel with a spring in his step.

1 Due to increasing pollution, London was often shrouded by a thick fog referred to as the London Particular

2 Cab=Brothel

3 Chaunting Lay=street singing, often for money

4 Rozzers=police

5 Lump Hotel=Workhouse

6 Dollyshop=unlicensed pawn shop

7 Whitecahpel was a very shady area of London near the open markets of the East End. It is most famous for being Jack the Ripper's murder ground

8 Jack=detective

9 Victorian England was a deeply religious country. A great number of people were habitual church goers and would go to church at least once, probably twice, every Sunday.

10 Wearing the broad arrow=being in prison. The arrow refers to the design of the prisoners clothes.

11 Jerryshop=A legal pawnbrokers

12 Drag=a three month gaol sentence

13 Toff=stylish gentleman


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Yay! It lives :P Right, I won't be able to post the third chapter on here today but I have started writing it so know that (barring any unforseeable circumstances) it should be up as scheduled on the 13th April. I got a review for the first chapter saying that it was difficult to follow the story with the numbers after words. Therefore, I have taken this person's advice and compiled a little glossary at the start, as well as some notes about the general background at the end, instead. Let me know which way you prefer and if I have overlooked anything and you can't understand what something means, ask and I shall tell.

GLOSSARY

SACK SUIT A sack suit was a more sober approach to style, rather than the more flamboyant trousers and frck coat worn by the upper classes. The sack suit was generally worn by the middle class. The most common colours were black and grey and the English are said to have worn both matching trousers and suits whereas the Americans were more lax about wearing matching colours. It was the style for the coat to have four buttons and for only the first to be done up.

Angel's On Horseback Oysters wrapped in bacon, and yes, some people really did have this for breakfast. Sounds delicious doesn't it? :/

**Hansom Cab** A horse-drawn taxis. They had large wheels and low slung bodies. The drivers of which had a notorious reputation for being criminals and drunks.

**Billy **A handkerchief

**Knockers** Men who would knock on the door of fellow workers at a nearby factory to wake them up, alarm clocks were obviously not used.

**Penny Post** Senders stuck a 'penny' stamp on the envelope and it was delivered the next day, much like what we still do today.

**Debtor's Jail** Basically a workhouse for those who have become destitute.

**Gattering **A pub

**Lush **An alcoholic drink

**Yank **This is still used today so I didn't know if I should put it in but it basically means an American

**Spreading the boards **Playing a game of cards

**Broading **Cheating at cards

**Finny **A five pound note

**Farthing **A quarter of a penny

**Sharps **Card swindlers

**Jacks **Detectives

**Jerry **A disturbance

**Coppers **Again I didn't know if I should put this in as it is still used today but it means police

* * *

A radiant beam of sunlight peeking through the slanted gap between the heavy velvet drapes at the window caused Alfred to be roused from sleep. Looking around his room blearily, it took a few moments for him to gather his wits and remember that the seemingly foreign environment he had woken up in was in fact the hotel room he had fallen asleep in. He grinned lightly when he thought upon what adventures today may bring and hastened to get ready. He rummaged about his luggage before pulling out various articles of clothing with a triumphant grin. He swiftly donned the white shirt and grey pinstripe trousers before grabbing a black cotton jacket. Putting it on, completing his sack suit, he done up the first button, leaving the other three undone.

Remembering the hotel's landlady's promise of breakfast upon his waking up, Alfred hurried down to the communal dining room. Seeing that the chef had already started laying the table, Alfred listened to the grumbling of his stomach and hastened towards the food. He pulled back a chair, dragging it slightly across the wooden floor, before collapsing into it and piling his plate high with different varieties of food that was on offer.

It was research for his article after all.

Research he wished he never had to carry out. The food was so bland and boring. The most exciting dish was something the cook called Angel's on Horseback, but even that lacked any real flavour. Alfred came to the conclusion that breakfast in London was not meant to excite the senses, just dampen the effects of hunger until the next meal.

Alfred washed the rest of his meal down with a cup of lukewarm Indian tea and graciously thanked the hotel landlady, who had also come down to dine at breakfast but was delicately picking at her food leaving most of her plate full. Making sure that he had his notepad and pencil in case he felt the urge to make any notes regarding his article, Alfred left the hotel and hailed a hansom cab.

"Where to gov'?" The driver asked in his cockney drawl, forcing Alfred to listen carefully to what he was saying.

"Where do you recommend?"

"Look, I ain't no bloody travel agent. Tell me where ya wanna go, or fuck off." The driver spat out. Alfred was shocked at the coarse language. He was under the impression that all Englishman were gentleman and relatively polite.

"I'll guess I'll be walking then." Alfred replied coldly.

"Fine, your loss, you tosser." The cab driver insulted before spurring the horse onward. Alfred sent a glare towards the retreating cab before turning on his heel and walking briskly in the opposite direction.

'_I'll find something to do. This is London after all.'_

Good humour returned, Alfred slowed his pace, deciding to enjoy his walk rather than act as if Satan's demons were on his tail. Noticing a park up ahead, Alfred picked up the pace and entered, what the sign above the iron wrought gate suggested, St. James' Park.

* * *

Arthur awoke with a heavy pounding reverberating around his skull, making him wince and hold his head in his hands in attempt to block out the pain.

'_Serves you right, you kept the gate open for far too long last night.'_

Feeling the worst of his headache subside, Arthur attempted to get out of bed. Once he had accomplished the small feat of standing, he looked down and grimaced. He was still wearing yesterdays clothing and they were hanging upon his frame in a rather dishevelled state, creases crisscrossing over the entirety of the outfit.

Arthur sighed and walked towards a small closet in the corner of the room where he stored his clothes, stripping as he went. Feeling uncomfortable in only underwear, despite being alone in the house, Arthur hurried to get dressed in one of his favourite outfits; a soft grey sack suit coupled with a crisp white shirt. Placing a clean billy in the top pocket of the jacket, Arthur swiftly left the house, neglecting breakfast as he was still feeling relatively nauseous from the evening's events.

Arthur smirked as he passed several knockers pounding on a door several houses down from his own. He guessed that they drew the short straw and was given the job of waking Mr Grayson for work who was a notorious alcoholic and had most likely drunk himself into an alcohol induced coma, leaving him dead to the outside world.

If the knockers were out, Arthur guessed that it was about eight and therefore the local post office would be open. With a destination in mind, Arthur strode determinedly forward until he reached a quaint building on the end of a row of houses. The smell of fresh (or relatively fresh) bread wafted over to Arthur from across the road and the sound of laughter reached his ears from a group of children playing hoops in the street. Arthur smiled lightly, glad that the effects of last night were starting to wear off. Immersing himself in everyday activities rarely failed in banishing thoughts of the supernatural.

Arthur entered the small post office and greeted the pale woman behind the desk with a jovial smile. The woman blushed profusely and managed to stutter, "I-Is there anything I can do for you today, Sir?"

"Yes, I'd like to know if I have received any post. The name's Arthur Kirkland."

"Ah, yes. a letter arrived by the penny post for you today Sir. You should let the sender know that they can address it straight to you, save you walking down here."

"I could, but then they would know where I live and I don't want to suffer any unexpected visits." Arthur replied, grin still in place.

"I-I'm sorry Sir, I shouldn't have imposed…" the woman grovelled to which Arthur simply brushed off with a carefree wave of his hand.

"No, no. It's fine. May I just have my letter, please?"

The woman blushed and ran into the back room, intent on finding Arthur's letter as quickly as possible. Today was her first day and she was a bundle of nerves, trying her utmost to do the best job she can.

Within a few minutes Arthur was standing outside the post office, envelope in hand. He had left the young girl with a few comforting words of advice on how to cope with her nerves as well as a small tip as a token of his gratitude.

Staring at the letter Arthur internally groaned. There was no mistaking that almost illegible scrawl across the front of the envelope, this letter was definitely from his father.

"Well, there's no point delaying the inevitable," Arthur muttered, before slipping his finger into the opening of the envelope and ripping the top open in one fluid motion. Pulling out the single page covered in that chicken scratch his father called writing, Arthur began to read whilst standing against the wall of the post office, away from the majority of the pedestrian traffic on the street.

_Dear Arthur,_

_You know I am not a man for sentiment, so I'll spare the pleasantries and get straight to the point. Your mother has been nagging me to find out when you decide to get married. Your younger brother Patrick recently married the daughter of a prestigious factory owner. He even got a job as a manager in one of the textile factories. There are some eligible women here, back home, who are just dying to meet you. They all have quite influential fathers who have promised quite a rich dowry to each of their daughters._

_However, you have little to no chance of ever getting a wife with any decent social standing when you stay in London doing your goddamn spiritual mumbo-jumbo. They are parlour tricks to keep the women amused, not a reasonable source of income. Therefore, I have decided to half your annual allowance. You can receive the full amount again when you put these silly pastimes away and return home._

_Malcolm Kirkland_

Arthur glowered at the letter in his hand with such ferocity it was almost a miracle that it didn't combust into flames. He shook his head and stuffed the letter into his trouser pocket. There was no way he was going to return home, it took him long enough to escape his gilded cage in the first place. Even if his father completely cut him off, Arthur would be more willing to spend time in Debtor's jail rather than crawl back to his overbearing parents. To them status was everything, as it was to many of the nouveau riche, and Arthur never truly gave the appearance of being a proper gentleman; preferring to go out to a gattering for a lush rather than partake in some of the more aristocratic hobbies.

Knowing that the nearest tavern was only a few blocks away, Arthur decided to drown his worries in a few pints and forget all about his estranged family, a feat that had worked for quite a while now as he had managed to go three years with only having the odd letter as a reminder of their existence.

* * *

Alfred stood in front of an illuminated pub; a weathered sign indicating that it was 'The White Lion' pub. Alfred had a relatively productive day partaking in activities that would become the focus of his article on British life, and was now more than ready to wind down and relax. In this mindset, Alfred sauntered into 'The White Lion'.

The place was heaving with men from all walks of life; the majority of who, however, appeared to be of the new industrialist middle class; all eager to prove their mettle through the act of downing many pints. Alfred grinned. True, he wouldn't be able to fully relax in a place as crowded as this but it was giving out such a positive vibe, Alfred wasted no time in occupying a place at the bar and ordering a pint.

"'Ello mate, not seen you round 'ere before." A raspy voice came from behind Alfred, causing him to turn round and acknowledge the speaker.

"No, just arrived in London yesterday." Alfred told the short man addressing him. He had lank shoulder length brown hair and several copper teeth. He was holding out a hand, which Alfred readily accepted.

"Ah, you're a yank ain't ya? Name's Danny, me and a few of my friends over there," here Danny paused to point out three men sitting round a circular table in the far corner of the room, "were wondering if you wanted to join us for a game of cards."

Alfred's face lit up. He absolutely adored card games and nodded his head, "Yeah, I'd love to. Name's Alfred by the way."

"Well, pleasure to meet you then Alfred. Shall we go join the others?" Alfred went to stand up but was stopped by a hand on his arm. Alfred looked down and saw that a man who had been seated next to him had grabbed a hold of his jacket sleeve.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." the man warned. He was quite short, not as short as Danny but definitely not as tall as Alfred himself. Strands of blonde hair fell about his face, some falling across his eyes which, despite the hair partially obscuring his view, Alfred could see were a vibrant green and appeared to pierce one's very soul.

"Oi, bugger off Arthur. The lad just wants to spread the broads with us." Danny looked extremely frustrated at this most recent development.

"Yeah except you and your lackeys will all be broading won't they? This _lad_ here would go in with a finny and leave with a farthing if you fucking sharps had any say in the matter." Arthur retorted firmly.

"You fucking bastard. What the hell has this got to do with you? You should go and join the goddamn jacks, you have a great affinity for getting involved in stuff that you shouldn't." Danny shouted at the shorter blonde, leaving Alfred spectating on the sidelines. He was relatively confused as the majority of the sentences were speckled with colourful English slang that he had not yet picked up. Therefore, he was slightly shocked when the man who had held him back suddenly jumped to his feet and punched Danny square in the jaw.

"Ow, what the fuck was that for, you mad tosser?" Danny moaned, his right hand holding his now bruised face. Arthur simply snorted and returned to his drink. "Don't turn your back on me you son of a bitch." Danny went to hit Arthur round the back of the head but was stopped by the burly arm of the landlord.

"Oi, keep your fights off my property. You wanna cause a jerry? Fine, do it where the coppers can't pin it on me, got it?"

Danny seemed to ponder his options before shrugging and making his way back to his table dejectedly. His friends didn't seem to be too pleased with the recent turn of events, it was unlikely that they would make any money conning unsuspecting patrons today.

"Umm…thank you, Arthur was it? I guess by the sound of it you saved me quite a bit of money." Alfred turned to thank his wallet's saviour. Arthur seemed to smirk into his drink before swiftly downing the clear liquid and turning to the American .

"So, I guess drinks are on you then?"

* * *

**Some Background Notes**

**Indian Tea **Countries in the British Empire influenced much about Victorian England, including our love for tea, which did actually originate in India.

**Food **Although it does annoy me in Hetalia when they say England can't cook (some can! Admittedly, I'm not one of them...but some are good cooks! Really!) food in Victorian England was known for not having much flavour at all as we shouldn't really be found enjoying our food. Women were especially looked down upon if they ate a lot as a large appetite for food meant a large appetite for sex, which was not allowed in England at this time. Despite this, Queen Victoria ate like a horse and was notorious for it. However, she did also start the trend for having large families, giving birth to nine children in total, so maybe there is some truth to this theory?

**St James Park **This is a real park. Although Hyde Park was seen as the best park in London, St James was known for its beauty and masses of flowers.

**Industrialism **Out of the industrialist boom came the nouveau riche, the up and coming middle class. Although they often tried to act like the upper classes, the true aristocracy looked down at them with disdain.

**Pubs** In Victorian London, pubs were open all night. It was the Temperance League that made the government force a closing time of midnight toward the end of the Victorian era. The Temperance League was set up to dissaude people from drinking alcohol by saying it was akin to worshipping the devil.

**Ok, that's all I can think to put in. If I left something unexplained, ask and I shall explain its meaning. **


	3. Chapter 3

A/N Sorry for being slightly late, but two days isn't the end of the world is it? If anyone also reads Delicious Ambiguity, I really am working on it, I just seem to have reached a brick wall. However, I shall continue to endeavour to climb over it and have the next chapter up as soon as I can.

GLOSSARY

STRIP ME NAKED-Gin

DOG'S NOSE- A popular drink made mainly of gin, cold ale and warm ale

TEMPERANCE-The temperance cause; where people protested against alcohol

SHARP-In case you've forgotten, it's a person who cheats at cards

ALDERMAN-Same as a half-crown which is 2 shillings and 6 pence

"Why do I get the feeling I'm loosing more money now than what I would've done playing cards?" Alfred moaned softly as his fellow patron called for another round of drinks after coaxing Alfred to once more shell out a handful of coins. Knocking back the amber liquid, Arthur tutted lightly and called the barman over. "I've had enough whiskey tonight, so strip me naked Tom."

"Whoa there! Look, I know you must be drunk out of your skull at the moment but you can't just parade around naked!" Alfred spluttered, his face turning a bright shade of red. Arthur burst out laughing while the walking mass of muscle simply rolled his eyes and put a glass of clear liquid in front of Arthur whose laughter had dimmed to a quiet chuckle. "I forgot you were a bloody yank. 'Strip me naked' is the same as asking for a gin." Arthur explained.

"Oh, I'm sure that never gets confusing." Alfred stated sarcastically to which Arthur tactically ignored, in favour of turning back to the barman and asking, "Bring us a dog's nose for the whining git Tom and no-before you ask- it does not contain any noses belonging to a dog or otherwise." Arthur directed the latter part of the statement towards the American.

Alfred held the pint glass gingerly, "So, do I want to know what's in this?"

"No-just drink it." Arthur replied, downing his own shot of gin. Alfred brought the glass to his lips and took a hesitant sip. His throat burnt lightly as the drink passed through. He whistled a low note before turning back to Arthur. "That is one hell of a drink."

Arthur grinned and patted Alfred on the back. "That it is! I can see the Temperance won't convert you anytime soon, not whilst you have a dog's nose to keep you warm in the evening and the hair of a dog to get you awake in the morning!"

"Hmm, that's one multi-talented animal" Alfred murmured before taking another swig of his alcoholic beverage, causing Arthur to smirk before returning to his own drink.

"So you've told me your name is Alfred and I've gathered you're American-and completely inept at recognising a sharp-but besides that, I don't know anything about you." Arthur pondered aloud.

"Nor I you. What do you want to know?"

"Hmm, well I guess the most obvious is why are you here?"

"What, in this pub? Well I was thirsty and-"

"No, you bloody tosser, why are you in England?"

"Oh, well, I'm a reporter over in America and I've been sent to do a piece on the Exhibition when it opens. Whilst I'm here, they also want me to do a short article on life in London."

"Oh that's…wait a second, you're the American reporter Alfred something!" Arthur exclaimed, pointing at Alfred's face.

"Yes, I think we've just gone over that." Alfred replied with a roll of his eyes.

"No, you twat! That bloody frog told me about you!"

"Ok, now you've lost me, _frog_?"

"Francis Bonnefoy," Arthur spat out whilst glaring at Alfred, causing him to shudder slightly. His eyes lit up as a sudden spark of recognition flared in his brain.

"Ah, Bonnefoy! Yes, I know him. I'm going to be doing a piece on his séances as part of my article. Apparently they attract quite a large crowd." Arthur scoffed but lowered his glare.

"You know he's a fake, don't you?" he questioned, staring into the bottom of his now empty glass. Alfred chuckled, "Well, aren't they all?"

Arthur quickly looked up, hurt flashing momentarily across his face before shrugging non-commitedly. Swiftly changing the topic, Arthur asked, "So besides attending that French bastard's mockery of a séance, what else are you going to research about London life?"

"Umm, well I thought I'd just wing it. I mean today I learnt that cab drivers are really rude, St James' Park is very pretty, a lot of people seem to be fascinated with cycling and the pub is seemingly the place to be. Oh, and your food sucks."

"Our food WHAT?" Arthur yelled, his face screwed up in indignant outrage.

"Your food tastes disgusting. Well no, it doesn't taste disgusting-it has no taste."

"Well, food is to provide sustenance to the body, it doesn't need to be poncy." Arthur retorted.

"Tch, having flavour is not being poncy. It's the key point of good cooking." Alfred reasoned with the irate Englishman.

"You're starting to sound like that bloody frog." Arthur muttered under his breath, before once again deeming it appropriate to change the topic of conversation. "So you really have no idea how you're going to carry out your research?" Alfred shook his head whilst taking another swig of his 'dog's nose'. "Well, in that case, I'm just going to have to show you around."

Alfred snorted, his drink causing him to splutter and choke. "You want to show me around?" Alfred asked once he had regained his composure.

Arthur huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I just thought I'd help you so that your article didn't completely fail and demean both London and yourself, but if you're going to be like that-"

"N-no, no, you just took me by surprise that's all! A local guide sounds like just the thing I need! Look, I've got to go before the landlady at the hotel I'm staying in locks up. I'm staying at the Gnawed Noble Hotel-do you know where that is?" Arthur nodded in reply, causing Alfred to grin whilst pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "Well then, how about you come and meet me at about nine tomorrow morning and you can take me on this coveted tour of London." Alfred propositioned.

"I-I guess I could…"Arthur stammered before Alfred stood up, effectively cutting his sentence short.

"Great! I'll see you then Artie!" Alfred exclaimed ecstatically before downing the rest of his drink and exiting the establishment hurriedly.

"Oi, it's Arthur!" The Englishman called after the retreating back. Arthur turned back round to the bar. "What on earth have I got myself in for?" he questioned the air in front of him.

"Oi, Kirkland," Tom the barkeep growled causing Arthur to look up and meet his gaze. "That'd be an alderman for the drinks."

Arthur looked on in confusion before anger etched into his facial features.

"THAT FUCKING BASTARD!"

Alfred Jones had left the bill.

BACKGROUND NOTES

CYCLING- Cycling had become a very popular pastime during the Victorian era, even inspiring the creation of female trousers to be worn whilst riding.

EXHIBITION- The crystal palace great exhibition was the largest world fair at the time, showing off industrial achievements and wonders from across the globe, (more about this will come up in later chapters, so I won't give a huge description of it at the moment)

CURRENCY- Money was divided into pounds, then shillings, then pennies. There were 20 shillings in a pound and 12 pennies in a shilling. In regards to the price of the drinks, I don't really know about prices at the time so I just guesstimated. (and Alfred did pay for most of the drinks, just not the last two)

A/N Sorry again for being slightly late, I shall try to be on time next time so should hopefully have another chapter up on 27th April.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Thank you for anyone who is still reading this. I know it has been a long time and I'm so happy that you haven't abandoned this story…so anyway, on with the show!**

**GLOSSARY**

**FLASH-A show-off**

**DABBING IT UP-Have sex with someone**

**COVE-A man**

**TOFFER-A superior whore; like an escort for the higher classes**

**GROWLER-A four wheeled cab**

**BUCK CABBIE-An unreliable cab driver**

**THE CHAPEL-Whitechapel**

**SOVEREIGNS-Gold pound coins**

Arthur sunk into one of the plum coloured armchairs that furnished the lobby under the direction of the rather matronly landlady of the 'Gnawed Noble'. Although his muscles were grateful for the rest; apprehension regarding the day's itinerary succeeded in pushing itself to the forefront of his mind. Offering to take Alfred on a tour around London was entirely spontaneous and the decision to make the offer was most likely fuelled by his consumption of alcohol that evening. Despite this, Arthur considered himself a gentleman and a gentleman never goes back on his promises.

So this was how Arthur found himself relaxing in an armchair early in the morning awaiting his American guest. Arthur glanced at the large grandfather clock in the corner. After noting the time; and internally growing extremely frustrated upon noticing that the American was already ten minutes late, Arthur analysed the structure of the clock itself. It was an extremely beautiful example of Clement's workmanship. The casing was made of highly polished mahogany; the reddish sheen of the wood complemented the heavy brass pendulum which swung back and forth in its hypnotic momentum. Arthur felt his eyelids grow heavy and forced his gaze away from the swaying pendulum. A young woman sitting in the far corner caught his eye. She was whispering quietly to herself and was wringing her hands in a very obvious sign of distress. Arthur found himself pitying the girl; his pity only growing upon his realisation that none of the other inhabitants of the room was paying the girl the slightest bit of attention. He went to walk over to her and offer some form of compassion. However, he froze in his seat when the strange girl looked up and locked eyes with his.

The pupils of her eyes were the silvery grey that Arthur had come to associate with those who had left the physical world but; for a number of varying reasons, continued to hold on to the thread that tied the seam between this world and the next.

Arthur sighed dejectedly. He was still slightly in shock due to his discovery of the ghost. It was not the first time his sight had activated without his willingness behind it, but it threw him every time. He offered the girl a weak smile, but she remained unresponsive and continued to mutter to herself.

Arthur was deliberating what to do when a loud voice broke the icy silence that had ensnared the lobby. Arthur groaned lightly when he recognised the accent as American.

"Hey Artie! Been waiting long? I had to help this small guy with his luggage just now…I mean, what kind of hero would I be if I just left him there struggling? Oi, Artie, you listening? What are you looking at?" Alfred shouted out to the immobilised Brit; gaining himself a few unfavourable glares from the hotel's patrons and sparking a multitude of comments that ranged from, "Bloody Americans" to "What a flash!" whilst one woman of questionable virtue muttered "I wouldn't mind dabbing it up with a cove like him!" before being instantly shushed by her fellow toffers.

Snapping out of his trance, Arthur sent Alfred a withering glance, "You are _fifteen _minutes late. All you had to do was come downstairs! And for the last flipping time; the name is Arthur! Got it?"

Alfred enthusiastically voiced his agreement and made to follow Arthur. Remembering the man's fixated stare earlier, Alfred turned around and looked to see what could've attracted such single minded concentration but he only saw an empty chair.

At this, Alfred felt quite guilty. Arthur must have been really bored waiting for him if a _chair_ was enough to hold his undivided attention.

Alfred jogged after the blonde Brit and caught up to him in record time due to the length of his legs. He slowed his gait so that his pace matched that of Arthur's and he flung an arm across his guide's shoulders; drawing him almost into an one armed embrace. "So where to _Arthur_?" Alfred questioned, making sure to put heavy emphasis on his use of Arthur's preferred name. Arthur rolled his emerald eyes at the American's antics before shrugging himself free.

"I thought we could start at Covent Garden. I'm sure we can find a stall at the market that sells food suitable to your _refined _palate." Arthur answered, sarcasm entering his voice towards the end when he recalled Alfred's comments about English food being tasteless upon their first encounter.

Alfred guffawed when he realised the reason for the Brit's tone of voice which in turn caused Arthur to chuckle lightly; which he subsequently passed off as a small cough.

"So are we walking there?" Alfred asked after finding the time to compose himself to which Arthur shook his head.

"No, it'll be quite a walk so I thought we could catch a ride in a growler." Catching Alfred's bemused stare Arthur added, "A cab; I thought we could catch a ride in a cab."

Alfred nodded in understanding at the translation and looked down the street. Catching sight of a lone black horse drawn carriage waiting by the kerb, Alfred pulled on Arthur's arm in an attempt to drag him towards it.

However, Arthur had other ideas regarding the matter. "I don't think so Jones. There's a reason why it's waiting there with no one approaching it. That's Jerry's cab and everyone knows that he's a buck cabbie. You'll ask to go to Covent Garden and you'll end up in The Chapel short a few sovereigns. No, we'll get the next one."

**A/N I know it's shorter than usual, but the chapter was far too long to have as one so I've split it into three parts. Anyways, on with the historical background notes!**

**BACKGROUND NOTES**

**CLEMENT'S WORKMANSHIP-William Clement was known for developing the traditional long case grandfather clock form in 1670. **

**THE CHAPEL-Or Whitechapel is most widely known for being Jack the Ripper's haunt. However, an important note to make is that this story is set in 1851. Jack the Ripper began his killing spree in 1888, so I won't be mentioning him at all. However, Whitechapel was still an impoverished area during the 1850s and was home to many illegal activities and criminals.**

**I know I've already said it, but thanks for continuing with this story, despite its being on hiatus for a while. I promise the next chapter will be up much sooner!**


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